


Winning a Lost Bet

by meet_me_in_samarra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Absolutely non-canon, Angel John sort of, Costumes, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Glitter, John in a loincloth, John is ripped, M/M, Pole Dancer John Watson, Pole Dancer Sherlock Holmes, Pole Dancing, Sherlock in a bodice, Sherlock is sexy, don´t copy to another site, naked skin, self-indulgent kinky writing, sue me, well-formed muscles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_me_in_samarra/pseuds/meet_me_in_samarra
Summary: A lost bet makes Sherlock and John perform a pole-dance in costumes at the Yard´s Christmas party. It was supposed to be humiliating but instead the couple nailed it.Thanks again PeaGeeTibbs for being my beta!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> OK so AO3 seems to have a problem with showing the word count when there is a picture embedded at the top  
> I´m putting the cover art at the end of the fic. I don´t like that and I´m sorry.  
> The cover art is also posted on AO3 and is named "Cover art for "Winning a Lost Bet" by meet_me_in_samarra"

Sherlock and John had been together as a couple for quite some time now. They had already been living together, they had been solving crimes together and when they finally got over their shared awkwardness to confess their love for each other they had become a couple.

None of them were ashamed of being gay or bisexual respectively but they agreed to keep their relationship a secret from the always prying eyes of the Yarders. Both just felt that the berks (maybe except Greg Lestrade) did not deserve knowing of their happy and sexually very fulfilling relationship.

They had considered telling Greg about them but the man was such a terrible gossip. Lestrade also was so keen on winning the pool on the ongoing bet the Yarders had. As if the most observant man in Great Britain (that would be Sherlock Holmes, of course) would not have realized that the staff of the homicide division had been wracking their brains over some of the most burning questions of all time (as far as they seemed to think even vital ones). Not that there was a lot of brain which could get wracked in the first place. Well.

Was John bi? (Like hell.)

Was Sherlock even able to feel sexual desire? (Like the nine hells when it came to John.)

Did they date or not? (They had had their first date right after John had shot that awful cabbie for Sherlock.)

Which had reminded Sherlock of a cat bringing a captured mouse to its owner as a sort of love gift. Sherlock liked dead bodies, so it had been a perfect present. The dating had quickly evolved into a relationship which also quickly included all kinds of sexual acts and resulted in John and Sherlock falling deeply in love with each other. Both were really happy.

So, over the next weeks after their first encounter the Yarders had come up with the bet to guess if and when John and Sherlock would become a couple. The pool seemed to be quite high because nearly everyone was participating right now.

Then came The First Incident which raised the stakes.

Sherlock (and a lot of the Yarders as well) knew that Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson were in a not-so-much-secret-anymore adulterous relationship. He did not care. He did not like the both of them but apart from being able to rile them up with his knowledge, Sherlock took no further interest in their doings. Although he very much liked to call them the “3D pair”, meaning dumb deviant dorks, when they were within earshot.

Until the day when Sherlock forgot his mobile on a crime scene after leaving the hallway where the body lay in a huff because Anderson had been his usual stupid self and Donovan her usual rude “freak-calling” self. When Sherlock returned to fetch his phone he saw them both in a tight embrace. Anderson was groping Donovan´s behind having shoved his hand deep down into her jeans while she had shoved her tongue deep down into his throat in what definitely was an attempt to lick at his tonsils. They emitted sounds of lust, moaning and grunting loudly.

Sherlock involuntarily emitted a loud sound of pure disgust.

They flinched and instantly jumped apart. Anderson´s face was flushed in shame and he turned away to fiddle with an evidence bag. Donovan´s face was flushed in radiant anger and she turned to confront a gaping Sherlock.

“That´s so you, Freak, to sneak upon us only to be able to humiliate us!” She fumed and threw a death glare at Sherlock. “What a cheap trick to _conveniently_ _forget_ your mobile!”

“Good Heavens, Donovan, seeing you and Anderson making out is really the last thing I would plan on,” Sherlock shook himself in a blatantly open way to make his point, “and you manage quite well to humiliate yourselves with all that moaning over a dead body. You accuse me of getting off at a crime scene, really?”

“Just wait, I´ll catch you and John red-handed one day, too.”

“I would never make out with John at a crime scene,” Sherlock spat and suspiciously quickly added, “not that we would kiss in the first place.” He remembered the ongoing bet about his relationship status and grabbed his mobile, turning to leave in order to avoid any further conversation.

Sally´s sly voice stopped him. “Wanna bet?”

“Huh?”

“What will you do if I catch you making out with John at a crime scene?” She challenged.

“I don´t care because that will never happen.”

“Well, let´s make it a more daring bet then. If you´ll be seen making out with John at a crime scene the both of you´ll have to do something really humiliating, like…” she hesitated and furrowed her brow, thinking hard about something really painful, “…like doing a dance together in front of the Yard.” She grinned evilly.

Anderson, being the gutless git that he was, felt suddenly bold and piped in. “Yes, like doing a _pole dance_ together at our Christmas Party.”

“Oh, great idea, and costumed as a famous movie couple!” Sally completed. “But I guess you wouldn´t dare, Freak.” She glowered at Sherlock again.

“It´s not a dare because it will never come to happen,” Sherlock made a quick calculation, “but you´re on.”

John was pissed at Sherlock making the bet without asking him first. He was in it as well. Even more, now the yarders were upon them like a pack of dogs already sniffing the hares. Sally´s bet had spread like a wildfire and everyone was eager to be the one to call out Sherlock. There were five months left to Christmas but in the end nothing really had changed because the couple had already agreed to never show their status as lovers while being with NSY. Still, the long time span they would have to bridge worried them anyway.

John was not worried about the dancing, though. Sherlock was not, either.

Because the Yarders also did not know two very important facts. Sherlock sustained the strong opinion that the Yarders did not know _any_ facts, period.

Firstly, John had been working out a lot. He was very fit and ripped at the moment, he was strong and had trained a lot on muscular endurance. You wouldn´t see all the strength because John covered his upper body in these wide and comfy woollen jumpers. He would be able to learn some physically challenging tricks on the pole and impress the Yarders with his high body tension.

Secondly, Sherlock had always loved dancing and had had years of ballet practice. He was lean and dextrous, moved gracefully and fluent while performing jumps and turns. Sherlock would well be able to manage the basic spins and holds at the pole if someone would teach him.

Everything was fine.

Then came The Second Incident which toppled the stakes.

Three months had gone by and John and Sherlock had managed quite well keeping their relationship secret although it had been hard.

Meaning that they had be not been secretly kissing at crime scenes. No secret cuddling in presence of the officers. No arse-groping (which both liked very much because their partner would always squeal undignified when being surprised) while on the premises of New Scotland Yard. No physical contact whatsoever at all.

They cherished their secret and kept all the others in limbo of not-knowing. They felt very smug about that. Until that one day when fate decided to out them.

Sherlock had been haring off after a fleeing suspect (as usual) with John hot in pursuit (as usual). Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan were lagging behind because they had missed that the suspect had actually been gaping stupidly with the crowd which had gathered around the crime scene (as usual). Which made the culprit into a complete moron, because really, it was the classic “murderer returns to his crime scene” stuff.

The killer ran off when Sherlock had deduced him in mere seconds while scanning the crowd. The typical chase ensued. Sherlock was hot on the culprit´s heels and managed to tackle him to the ground. John arrived several seconds later, his illegal gun already in the steady hand to make sure the murderer stayed put. Business as usual, so far.

Sherlock had thrown himself over the man´s midsection to pin him onto the ground and John was in the act of aiming his gun to keep the killer from writhing. The murderer caught both of them by surprise when he suddenly had a penknife in his hand. There was no hesitation in his eyes when he stabbed Sherlock directly into the abdomen.

Time stood still for a moment. While Sherlock grunted, John screamed bloody murder at the culprit and nearly shot him into the head.

Yet, the gods of fate must have been smiling down benevolently at Sherlock this day. Because the blade which would have caused at least a severe injury (if not a lethal one) only hit Sherlock´s magnifier which had been crammed into a pocket of the greatcoat. The knife slipped off the lens, shattering it but otherwise only damaged the fabric of the Belstaff.

The sight was close to causing John a heart attack due to shock. To be fair, Sherlock had been actually suffering of shock symptoms himself because he had been expecting to feel a blade slicing his guts and bleeding out. Leaving John behind.

When Sherlock and John realized that there was not only no lethal wound but also no injury at all, several things happened at the same time.

Sherlock rolled off the culprit and fingered disbelievingly his uninjured and blood-free stomach. John leapt forward and knocked out the culprit with the hilt of his gun. Greg and Sally ran around the corner and, slithering to an awkward halt, saw the three men in a freeze-frame picture lying in a twelve-limbed heap on the ground.

John had cradled Sherlock´s face in his hands, kneeling above him and emitting cooing noises while Sherlock looked wide-eyed and scared up at John, grabbing John´s shoulders respectively.

And then they kissed. Deeply and desperately. Of course, they did not think of losing the stupid bet. All they thought about was having been so close to losing their beloved one.

“Ha, I knew you couldn´t keep your mouths off each other,” Donovan hooted triumphantly, “you just lost the bet.”

“Fuck you _,_ ” Sherlock shouted while John added, “and fuck your bet.”

Sherlock was determined to nail the pole dancing part and eagerly planned their training. John was a bit reluctant at first and did not quite see reason why he should put so much effort into a stupid bet made up by the rude officer Donovan. Why should he relent to a whim of that bad-mouthing bitch?

Some days later at the Yard´s cafeteria he overheard Sally making fun of how that “bumbling beanpole” and the “flabby toy soldier” would fail to dance and utterly embarrass themselves.

Which firstly made John feel truly insulted and secondly turned him into a highly dedicated pole dancing pupil. He´d rather pull a tendon with training every day before giving Sally a reason to say “I knew it”. Toy soldier! The fuck! He´d bloody invaded Afghanistan. He´d show her flabby. He´d show her how well he could dance. He´d show her his already well-formed muscles, too.

After The Second Incident happened, Sherlock became very industrious. He bought a pole, he ordered flat 221c to be cleared and cleaned, he had the pole installed in the basement together with mirrors on the wall and a nice wooden parquet floor on the ground. He had a sound system built in. He had the heating fixed. For preparation, he acquired 56 books on the techniques of pole dancing, 41 of them including a DVD. Sherlock watched them all. Multiple times.

Mrs Hudson was over the moon. She became as excited as a three-year-old on their first Christmas. She ogled longingly the shiny virginal metal pole and deftly cursed her hip which prevented using it herself in commemoration of the olden days when she´d been an exotic dancer in Florida. A very erotic dancer, too. She had been very bendy back then.

Sherlock also managed to finagle a deal with one of Great Britain´s top female competitive pole sport champions to give them private lessons two times a week and create a professional choreography for them. Sherlock claimed that she owed him for helping her with a case two years back including drugged toothpaste and dangerous tampering with a spinning pole. John was beyond asking for details at that point. Sheila turned out to be a very good and professional dancer/teacher and also was funny on top. She had the body of a circus acrobat and could do tricks on the pole which defied gravity.

At first John complained that he had to be so “naked” for training on the pole. He claimed feeling like a stripper and that he really did not want to appear like a hooker while doing that damn bet. Sheila told him that he´d just need all the friction of human skin onto metal he could get in order not to slip off and fall onto his behind. John was stubborn at first and tried with yoga pants but his closed knees were unable to hold him on the pole and let him just slide ridiculously slowly down until he sat stupidly on the ground with the pole still clasped between his thighs. Sherlock laughed his ass off. The next time John practiced with a very scantily cut running short and did much better.

When they were training on their own, Mrs. Hudson often joined them. She could not help much with showing them how to do the actual physical tricks but was very efficient at making their performance better. How to hold themselves, how to move more gracefully, how to flirt with the audience and exude an air of untouchable eroticism.

John found out that he was damned turned on when he watched Sherlock doing spins or sitting in mid-air on the pole, arms extended wide to his side. He always imagined being the pole and wanted to be surrounded by Sherlock´s tightly pressed thighs as well. Could one become jealous of an inanimate object? Obviously, yes.

The stiffness in John´s pants made the training somehow difficult. At least Sherlock had the same problem, he admitted to that somehow ashamed one night in bed. When he saw John doing all these powerful holds on the pole and how his muscles strained and undulated under his newly tanned skin he became hard, too.

The couple trained a lot and Sheila provided them with a brilliant choreography which looked impressive and complicated but actually was mostly comprised of only beginner´s tricks. She included some more advanced moves too, when she realized that Sherlock had the flexibility for doing splits while John was strong enough to hold his body vertical on the pole.

Choosing a “famous movie couple” for their dancing costumes was much harder. John proposed what he felt must have been like three dozen famous pairings but Sherlock always found something to complain about. Sherlock of course had no idea about movies whatsoever, apart from James Bond which he grudgingly watched together with John.

In a way it was universal justice that they would find their perfect movie couple on a crime scene. The walls of the office where two mutilated bodies had bled out, Sherlock deemed the case a seven, had been plastered with cheap copies of vintage movie stills and posters. Instead of being transfixed with the gory injuries of the victims Sherlock stared at a 1960´s picture depicting a barely clothed “man” and a woman in a tight silver bodice-thingy.

Sherlock wanted to wear that thingy instantly and was also very keen to have John sporting that glittering loincloth. He would be delectable like that. Sherlock fell into a dream-like state when his blood decided to abandon the brain and went to accumulate somewhere else.

John instantly wanted to see Sherlock in that glittering bodice which exposed his mile-long lean thighs. Thighs that would be dressed in silvery over knee high heeled boots, too. He was not so sure about putting on that golden Tarzan-style piece of fabric himself but seeing Sherlock secretly salivating and swallowing at the movie poster confirmed that his lover must have the same daydreams about John in that golden… whatever you would call that.

John quickly gave in.

Sherlock knew a tailor who owed him a favour for solving the Puzzle of the Poisoned Pincushion (of course he did) and the man expertly made them replicas of the costumes which were sturdy enough to endure a pole dance. He had to minimise the wings, of course.

Who said those garments could only be worn for the show? Why not have some additional fun with fancy dressing at home as foreplay? Using these as a perk of the whole stupid bet affair?

Sherlock was delighted when John proposed that idea although he tried to side-track him. The Master Deducer shammed to only grudgingly comply and claimed it would be substantial to ensure the suitability of the costumes in a “real-life environment” before he eagerly went with it.

“Whatever floats your boat to deny being fucking turned on by wearing that,” John thought and did not complain, of course. He was fucking turned on as well.


	2. The Dance

NSY´s Christmas party was to be held at the 20th. Meanwhile everyone had been informed about the pole dance performance and most of the staff had been getting more and more excited in anticipation of cashing in the lost bet. A lot of them hoped that the Consulting Detective would utterly humiliate himself and that they would be able to mock him relentlessly and retaliate him for his general obnoxiousness and vitriolic tongue.

Secretly, a lot of the women but also an astonishingly high amount of men also looked forward to see Sherlock or John (or both) partially naked. Hopefully so because both men were really good-looking on the outside. One could only guess what kind of body that Belstaff or these cringy jumpers hid beneath.

When December came the Yard had become guerrilla-plastered overnight with posters announcing the upcoming dance event at the Christmas party. The poster also showed a badly photoshopped picture with Sherlock´s deerstalker-covered head copied onto a naked male stripper body humping a pole. The groin area had been covered with a pink heart.

This had to be Sally´s doing, obviously.

A big headline ballyhooed an “Unforgettable Once-In-A-Lifetime” performance of the new shooting star of pole dancing called “The Conceding Defeatist”. John was uncertain if he should feel relieved for being spared in this picture or if he should feel insulted for being ignored.

Sally meanwhile was very proud of the new moniker because her creation included the word “defeat” as well as portrayed Sherlock´s killjoy-ry (she was not quite sure if that was a word but it just fit so well) and strutted around proudly for several days.

Sherlock noticed that Anderson´s knees were in a bad shape the days following after the mysterious posters had popped up. He asked Philip if he was currently doing the floor-scrubbing at Sally´s flat and earned himself a death glare. Nothing new under the sun, really.

Anderson was not afraid of levelling himself down onto the mental capacity of a pre-school child in that he always made his mobile play the first chords of Joe Cocker´s famous song “You can leave your hat on” when Sherlock was around.

Sherlock was completely unfazed because he never listened to popular music. When John asked him about that he stated that popular came from the Latin word “populus” which not only meant “folk” but also meant lower folk such as in “riffraff” which made the whole music genre abhorrent to him.

John just rolled his eyes (Sherlock noted the he had adopted his own eye-rolling technique perfectly in the meantime) and explained that this song was like the inofficial stripper hymn. Afterwards Sherlock downgraded Anderson from bug-brained to unicellular organism status. Although that comparison could insult the poor beasties.

However, a vengeful Sherlock let a hacker who owed him a favour for… (at this point John chose to ignore his boyfriend´s ramblings) alter Philip´s ring tone into a lasciviously male voice moaning “Make Me Kneel” with whip-like noises in between the words. Every time Anderson´s phone rang it was heard. Loudly. Without the option to undo the change or mute the device. After one week of being laughed at Anderson showed up with a new mobile.

The Yard became adorned in all sorts of thinkable and also unthinkable Christmas decorations. What kind of deranged brain had come up with the idea to put bright red boxer brief-shaped baubles frosted with fake snow onto the giant fir tree in the main hall?

John liked them a lot though and secretly stole a pair. He put them up on the bison´s head in the flat, letting them dangle from the horns. The sight sent Sherlock into a delightful laughing fit.

Time flew by in gigantic strides and so the party day arrived.

The assigned catering service had built up a really impressive buffet and faint music was playing in the background of the largest conference room available where a stage with a gleaming metal pole had been set up. Someone had put pink sticky notes depicting Sherlock´s head onto the device.

Employees in gaudy Christmas jumpers (such as not even John Watson would deign to wrap himself in) milled around and quickly raided the food like a swarm of giant locusts. Soon everybody was clutching plastic glasses full of the legendary and fast-acting Christmas punch. They affectionately called the swill “Head Punch” for very good reasons concerning next day´s aftermath.

Everyone knew what the pole was there for. Yet, no one so far had caught the slightest glimpse of Sherlock or John who were supposed to dance at 9pm and some Yarders were already insinuating that the couple had chickened out of performing, too embarrassed at their upcoming failure.

Sally was vibrating with glee although it could also be due to the amount of imbibed Head Punch and she leant close to Philip whose eyes had become looking even more like a weasel´s. He lazily groped at Sally´s backside while she giggled with a dopey smile on her face.

Exactly ten minutes to 9pm a slightly swaying DI Greg Lestrade mounted the stage and the tension in the room suddenly spiked while the air became thick with anticipation. Greg, only slightly slurring, recounted how the bet had come to life and what Sherlock and John would have to do. He trailed off a bit, caught in rambling and not completely focussed on his task because the head-punching was setting in.

But when someone shouted, “Oi, Greg, do the pole yourself. Test if it´s slick enough!” and raucous laughter swept through the rapt audience he quickly announced the pole dancing duo and clambered off the stage with an awkward smile and fully flushed cheeks.

The Yarders surged forward, forming a solid wall of sweaty bodies and faces filled with schadenfreude and they collectively drew in a deep breath when the curtain parted and Sherlock and John stepped through. Catcalls and whistling started. Sherlock imperiously raised a hand to command silence. It worked fairly well.

All eyes were trained on him. Sherlock wore an ankle-length silver cloak with a large hood that nearly concealed his face and also hid his body completely. John matched his partner with a golden one. Sherlock started speaking and the audience quieted down even more. Only Sally loudly hooted “Strip already” but her neighbours shushed her, annoyed, sending her into a sulk.

“Tonight, John and I will perform a duo choreography on the pole. We should be costumed as a famous movie couple and since you are all bumbling morons (insulted protest ensued) we have a screenshot of the movie in question projected in the background so you´ll know who we represent.”

The Yarders saw the picture lighting up at the screen behind the stage and a disbelieving murmur emerged which quickly evolved into whispered gasps of stunned surprise… had they really dared to dress like that?

Without further ado, Sherlock stepped towards John and took off his partner´s golden cloak. “Here is my angel”, he said.

The audience collectively let out an awed exhale before a thunderous cheer arose and frantic clapping made everybody´s eardrums ring.

John wore… not much actually. A very scanty and very golden loincloth was wrapped around his more private parts. The flowing fabric shimmered in the light. Matching glitter had been applied onto his chest and shoulders, the whole body beautifully tanned and emphasizing his finely chiselled muscles. A divine six-pack adorned his abdomen, he sported lovely bi- and triceps and his abs were bulging.

When John moved his muscles were straining and the veins showed but in a way that told of real functional strength instead of pure pointless bodybuilding mass. A tiny pair of feathery white wings was attached with barely visible flesh-coloured straps onto John´s back. The sight was literally topped with John´s hair dyed in a golden hue. A true angel had descended from heaven above. An Adonis nonetheless.

The crowd blinked. Ogled. Gaped.

Good God! Jesus Motherfucking Christ! Holy Shit! The Yarders were instantaneously envious. Doctor Ex-Soldier John Sodding-Holmes´ Boyfriend Watson was… ripped!

Sally´s lower jaw went slack. Saliva pooled in her mouth and threatened to spill over her lower lip. She sucked the fluid back in and swallowed. Watson´s muscles were nothing short of spectacular. She realized Philip had caught her red-handed staring transfixed when his eyes became jealous slits. Attempting to deflect she hissed, “If you´d work out at least a tiny bit, you could have something resembling muscles, too.”

Meanwhile, on the stage, John´s well-formed abs rippled when he reached up to discard of Sherlock´s silvery cloak. Sally had to tear her gaze away from John´s chest, surprised and embarrassed to find herself mesmerized with all this beautiful naked flesh to look at the Freak.

“Here is my Barbarella”, John announced.

A second wave of shocked silence surged through the audience. No one, not one, of the Yarders could have imagined their notorious Consulting Detective to dress like this. And look like he had ever been meant to be wearing… that.

Thingy!

Sherlock Holmes. Crossdressing. On high heels. What the fuck?

Holy Hell! Holy all Dante´s Nine combined and some more hells on top! How could he wear this and, in a lack of a better word, lacking a whole lexicon of words, look simply _gorgeous_?

A knowing grin formed on Sherlock´s face. His silvery dyed springy curls bounced when he took a mocking bow. He wore a skin-tight sleeveless silver bodice extending into a panty, both cut for a female body that shamelessly _just so_ covered his groin area and exposed his long sinewy arms and lean thighs. And, when Sherlock performed a deliberately slow spin, also exposed the lower part of his taut arse cheeks in such a lewd way that the audience, men and women alike, just freaked out and visibly recoiled in steamrollered shock.

The cheeky bodice-panty _Thingy_ had four black ribbons adorning the front of this shiny excuse for a piece of clothing and two sleek black straps along its sides made Sherlock´s slender body look even longer.

The silken straps continued to run down at the side of Sherlock´s upper thighs snuggling against naked milk-white skin until they reached the same silvery fabric above his knees again only to end at his ankles. Fabric which formed skin-tight over-knee length boots ending in pin-point sharp high heels. Black laces crisscrossed over Sherlock´s shins and ended in another black ribbon far above his kneecaps.

How, like _how_ , could that lanky git Holmes do a graceful ballet-like spin in this orthopaedic abhorrence of footwear without breaking an ankle?

The pirouette ended in an insanely arched back when John caught Sherlock like he weighed nothing at all and dipped his partner deeply, firmly held in golden tanned strong arms.

“He´s mine,” John growled, feral.

With a possessive glare at the audience, daring them to object, he loosened one arm and put his now free hand firmly onto one of Sherlock´s arse cheeks which peeked out of the obscenely slinky panty and groped it hard.

The crowd gasped again. The women were jealous and imagined to be groped by John like Sherlock was. The men were jealous, too and imagined to grope someone like John did while sporting such a six-pack. Some men also imagined to be Sherlock and longed to be groped by John instead.

“If you did not guzzle all this junk food, you could also have such a beautiful slim body like Sherlock does,” Philip retaliated Sally´s former taunt with a leering gaze at Sherlock´s lean thighs. Sally was too uncertain what to think of this remark to feel insulted right now. Philip was ogling the Freak´s body? And enjoyed it? That was utterly disturbing.

Back on the stage, the couple turned their heads and looked lovingly at each other. Sherlock raised his hands to cup John´s face and pressed a kiss onto his lips. The action blatantly clearly involved tongues and the pair demonstrated they obviously did not give one fucking shit about people gawking.

The crowd moaned. There was cheering and screaming but some also made barfing noises. Cameras clicked. Again. John and Sherlock indulged for a while before they both made a show of licking their lips, then sneering at the Yarders and simultaneously flipping them off.

“You´re my One,” Sherlock shouted, feeling defiant, “let´s do it!” and the music began.

The first chords of U2´s famous song “One” set in and Sherlock stalked on clicking heels to his starting position. He sat down, pulled his knees up and leant back, resting the weight of his upper body on his hands which supported him behind his back. He froze in this M-like shape, facing the pole.

John walked leisurely towards the pole, grabbed it double-handed at shoulder height and pulled himself off the ground, his body perfectly linear and in a 30° angle off the pole. He subtly rebounded and used the energy to let his body make two full spins. The movement was fluent, effortless and looked so easy but the strain in John´s muscles made the high amount of necessary body tension clear. After seemingly gliding through air John´s feet touched the stage again, facing Sherlock and leaning his back against the pole.

The Yarders stared. This was not what they´d expected. What John just did was an example of perfect body control, beautiful and simple-looking but everyone who´d done pull-ups before knew that it was hard.

Eyes switched to Sherlock now who raised his bottom high and arched his back so far that his curls made contact with the ground. Then he let his whole body spring forward in a powerfully executed movement that made him stop in a kneeling position in front of John, stretching his arms wide to the side, making him resemble the letter “T”.

John walked behind Sherlock and determinedly grabbed him under the armpits. John lifted him high over his own head into a hold with outstretched arms. Sherlock spread his legs into a side-split and they seemed to go on forever. John whirled two times around the pole, always holding Sherlock high above only supported by John´s strong arms. Sherlock kept being frozen with arms and legs stretched wide. John panted hard when his spins ended, standing facing the pole again with Sherlock between.

Once more, the audience was gobsmacked. What the couple performed on stage so far was nothing like humiliating stumbling around. It was a stunning show of complete confidence in what their bodies could do. Miles away from embarrassing wanna-be dancers.

Back on the stage the choreography continued.

Sherlock, still held up in the air by John, leant forward and grabbed the pole double-handed. John pushed him into a spin and stepped aside. Sherlock´s lean body made four fast full rotations. He made his torso execute a complicated sequence of movements which let him change position from head up to head down and back again, having to change his grip on the pole often all the while upholding a full side-split with his sinewy legs.

Huh?

Philip blinked, trying to understand what he just saw. Like one fixed a “V” in the middle of a stick and let it rotate and flip back and forth at the same time. Hopefully someone was recording that so he could watch it again in slow motion. To understand the course of movement. Not to ogle at these beautiful slender legs in those sexy silver over-knees. Noooo. Nope! Definitely not that.

Sherlock had stopped the spinning and hooked his upper foot behind the pole. He planted the sole of his lower foot firmly onto the metal before he released both hands and extended his arms wide to the side. His body formed now a perfect “X” and was only held by the tensed toes of his upper foot.

Wait. What?

This lanky git was not only flexible and graceful but also strong as fuck!

Philip saw how strained Sherlock´s tendons were and imagined with a shudder how much weight he had to suspend with only the toes. Thank God they were so long. Matching these divine looking sensual legs.

Philip gnashed his teeth so hard that he could feel a tiny particle breaking off. He chewed shortly on it before swallowing it down and felt utterly wrecked. Holmes´ legs actually turned him on. Well, shit! He´d have to convince Sally to work out and get thighs like these, too.

On stage, Sherlock grabbed the pole again and finally stopped spreading his legs. He closed his knees around the pole and gracefully slid down in a Fireman´s Spin, coming to a halt on his high heels beside the pole, breathing hard.

Delighted cheers washed through the audience and a lot started to hoot wildly.

Most of the people watching had expected to see some tacky humping or sleazy rutting moves. A lot had seen strippers dancing on a pole before, “it was at the job when we investigated in a club” the men claimed while the women stated “there was this hen party of my best friend”.

The couple on stage did nothing like that. Too obvious, Sherlock would have claimed, like poking one in the eye with the forefinger while yelling “Look, here´s the sex act. I´m having coitus with the long metal penis.”

Sherlock gestured John to come closer and the golden angel walked around his Barbarella and let his hands reverently caress the lean body. Sherlock leant into the touch before he playfully pushed John away with the tip of his high-heeled foot. John gracefully rolled backwards only to jump forward and grab the offending leg. He pressed several kisses along the shin, making Sherlock grin lecherously, before he flexed the leg into a full front split.

The men in the audience winced. Another split! A front split this time. That looked so damn painful in a very delicate area. The women catcalled and tried in vain to hide goggling at Sherlock´s groin. That ribboned panty was so tiny. How could it keep its content firmly in place? Maybe it would fail and slip now… one could still hope.

Sherlock let his upper foot be set on the pole by John and bent his torso far to the front until he could grab the metal with both hands besides his foot. That way, he formed a V-shaped gap but still maintained the front split.

Some of the men watching could not bear the sight anymore. That surely had to be achy as fuck? Better to concentrate on Watson now. If one only could have these gorgeous muscles, too. Why did Watson always hide this chest under shapeless woollen jumpers?

Sherlock´s panty failed to slip and did not fulfil the women´s dreams. Damn!

John ducked through below Sherlock´s leg, leant his back against the pole and grabbed it both-handed above his head. With an enormous effort John pulled his body upwards in a deadlift until his body formed a perfect 90° angle to the pole and was parallel to the ground. He turned his head to look at the gaping audience and winked.

John held the insane position for five seconds before he, unbelievably, pulled his lower body even higher upwards until his feet pointed to the ceiling. Now, John was head down in a handstand. Two tiny globes of sweat dropped from his forehead and fell onto the stage, glistening in the limelight.

The golden fabric of John´s loincloth dropped onto the powerfully bulging quadriceps of his upper thighs. Since he was positioned sideways to the audience, the watchers also got a full view of John´s very plump and very taut butt.

Sudden applause erupted. John´s muscles trembled due to the enormous power he had to set free for holding himself that way.

Sally grunted disappointed and had her mouth open again, her lips wet from absent-minded licking. She had hoped, although she knew that the chance would be equalling zero, that there would be nothing under John Watson´s loincloth. But sadly, he wore golden briefs. Damn!

Meanwhile, Sherlock had climbed with monkey-like dexterity up the pole and settled in a free-handed sit high above John´s head who was still upside down. Sherlock extended his legs upwards, feet nearly touching the ceiling of the room and bend his upper body incredibly far backwards. His now sweaty curls were touching the pole at the height of John´s feet while the hands of his extended arms were lightly embracing John´s hips. Sherlock was now upside down, too. Only his closely pressed together upper thighs prevented him from slipping off and crashing down eight feet onto the hard boards of the stage, probably breaking his neck.

Every sinewy muscle was pulled tight in this position, clearly visible under Sherlock´s skin which was pulled tight over his porcelain white lean limbs, not one iota of fat anywhere to be seen. His chest heaved with the exertion.

The freeze frame picture of both men perched inverted on the pole, upholding an athletically insanely taxing position was too much for the audience. Wild clapping washed like a tidal wave through the mass of rapt watchers. Catcalls and whooping sounds visually pierced the atmosphere like sharp knives ready to draw blood.

The audience just freaked out!

No one could have imagined in their wildest dreams to see a performance like that today. It was beautiful. Stunning. Athletic, powerful and sensual. Erotic without even really trying to be. Men and women alike were turned on. So much! Some tried to resist the arousal but failed miserably. Several men felt a hardness rising in their pants and several women felt humidity starting to build up in theirs.

In the heated atmosphere of present day NSY´s conference room John and Sherlock simultaneously released their grip on the shiny metal pole. Which meant that both men had to perform a half backflip before the mundane earth embraced them safely again. They stuck the landing securely on opposing sides of the pole. The skill of Sherlock´s must have been expert level because he wore those damn high heels.

Another wave of raucous applause arose and the Yarders panted in sync with the sweaty couple on stage. They started chanting “Sherlock, John, Sherlock, John” and it sounded like a worshipping chorus in church.

Bono Vox of U2 sang the lines “One love, one life, It's one need, In the night” in the background with a sultry voice.

Sally Donovan´s brain decided to choose this moment to quit functioning properly. She did not know it yet but this would also be the very moment when she would quit calling the Consulting Detective “Freak”. She would still keep on hating his guts, of course.

The performance continued for several minutes more on that skill level. Sally could not quite follow the whirlwind of spinning limbs and rotating bodies anymore. Sherlock and John bested the bet by far.

She and Philip had proposed the wager as a means to make them humiliate themselves in front of a large audience, forever to be mocked for. Instead, the couple had showed everyone what awesome athletic dancers they were. Powerful and fluent, graceful and poised, John´s understated strength and Sherlock´s ballet-like grace. They had been comfortable on the pole, utterly confident knowing that their stellar performance would simply annihilate the stupid bet.

Yet, Sally could not really begrudge them failing to screw up. The show had been nothing but spectacular, especially for two men who had never put a hand on a pole ever before.

Fuck, they had truly nailed it!

In the end Sally clapped as ferociously as everyone else in the audience. Sherlock and John stood on the stage, drenched in sweat, panting heavily and chests heaving like giant bellows. They smiled, completely satisfied and took several bows hand in hand, each time throwing the Yarders a kiss. When they exited through the curtain the applause still went on for a long time after they were gone.

The aftereffects of what was to become known as “The Legendary Pole Dance” were far-reaching.

In the night directly following the performance a total of six children would be conceived with at least one parent being a Yarder. One baby was actually baptized “Sherlock” although only for the middle name. The girl would become a famous ballet dancer.

The gym situated closest to NSY´s registered an inexplicable onslaught of new members after Christmas. Even more strange, several of the newbies asked for the availability of a pole to train on.

Two days after the Christmas Party a video named “Power and Grace. First ever pole dance of male couple” trended on YouTube. John instantly suspected Sally Donovan to be the one who had uploaded this. Sherlock simply scoffed when John mentioned his suspicion. After one disinterested and half-arsed look at the screen he deduced that their landlady had been the culprit.

“It´s been shot from backstage where she´d helped us with putting on the costumes and just look at the username, John. MissMiami221. It´s ridiculously obvious,” he stated not bothered about the content at all before he returned to dissecting a hedgehog brain. Clearly, it must have been vital for solving Sherlock´s current case. Whatever.

Sherlock secretly downloaded the video later on. He also made a backup for safety reasons. To be really safe, he made several copies and hid the five USB drives all over the flat. John knew that Sherlock would get the video so he left making backups to his boyfriend.

Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson also secretly downloaded the video and salivated every time over watching it, focussing on John´s six-pack or Sherlock´s over-knee boots respectively.

When John became pissed over all the comments concerning the video cramming the inbox of his blog (although they were mostly very flattering) he marched down the seventeen steps and confronted Mrs Hudson with an irritated “You´ve been YouTubing!”

She unabashedly nodded and plainly told John “A little retaliation for all the holes you shot into my poor wall. That´s been bugging me for some time now.”

John threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed fully exasperated, “But that was Sherlock! He was bored!”

Utterly unimpressed, Mrs Hudson just gave John a conspirative look and raised one eyebrow “So? You´ll better work _hard_ on keeping your man more entertained then.” John opened his mouth to say… something but Mrs Hudson slyly winked at him “Also, I wanted the world to know how talented my boys are.”

Shocked into sudden speechlessness, John only managed some goldfish-like gulping movements and watched disbelievingly when she turned on the heels of her orthopaedically recommended slippers and quietly shut the door of 221a.

As it turned out, John did not have to worry too much on how to keep Sherlock from getting bored in between cases.

This evening over dinner, Sherlock deigned to eat a full plate because John made “the thing with the peas”, he suspiciously casually mentioned “It would be a real shame to let the pole fall into disuse now the bet is over, with all the work we put into refurbishing 221c.”

John glanced sideways at Sherlock to see a light blush creeping along his cheekbones. Catching up quickly, John forced a thoughtful expression onto his face. He nodded, “Yes, yes. Also, it would be… stupid to let all the muscle and coordination skills we trained _so hard_ for go to waste.” Sherlock coughed, mumbling something resembling “pea” and “windpipe” while John continued, “Could make a vital difference for future criminal-chasing.” Sherlock nodded eagerly along and John was able to hear his relieved sigh.

They agreed to continue working out at the pole, starting the next day. Without mentioning it any further, Sherlock showed up in the Barbarella costume and John as the angel. Neither was surprised.

The 221b couple kept pole dancing on a regular basis, greatly enjoying the work out. They often had racy sex afterwards.

Sherlock found out that he really liked wearing a bodice and panties. He told John about that, blushing severely. John found it adorable and confessed he was fucking turned on by seeing Sherlock in these. Over the course of time Sherlock would amass several dozen sets. John would always choose the one his partner should wear.

John on the other hand found out that he did not like wearing a loincloth. He exchanged the stupid thing with red boxer briefs for practicing. Sherlock did not mind.

John also realized that he did very much like the feeling of the wings´ straps against his torso. Resulting in John amassing an impressive collection of leather harnesses adorned with various knick-knacks like metal rings, chains or studs. Sherlock did mind a lot. He always chose for John to wear a piece matching his bodice.

Although both men would never admit to it, they felt thankful for Sally Donovan to propose the bet in the first place. Their lives would have been much less entertaining without a pole in it.

The End

Here is the cover art I made for the fic. Trying to sneak it in here (word count problem with AO3)

Describing complex movements or postures with words only is really hard. Hopefully you got a good impression of what I imagined. I made a compilation of most of the tricks I tried to describe using images from the internet (not referenced) or from the pole-sports code catalogue: <http://www.polesports.org/free-videos/pole-sports-code-catalogue/>

The picture shown on the screen behind the stage would be this still from the 1968 movie “Barbarella” and can be found here: <https://i.pinimg.com/originals/96/e0/f8/96e0f84d9936ee65d18d31aaed0dd44a.jpg>

Maybe some of you readers (thanks for that, by the way) have been wondering if I know how to pole dance myself. I don´t but really wish I were able to.

The acrobatic side has fascinated me for some time now, accidentally started by seeing a spinning pole performance to a David Bowie song called “Lady Grinning Soul” on YouTube. Awesome! <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dsUQl2Y-rD0>

“Pole dancing”: Competitions are often divided into “pole sports” which focuses on the acrobatic performance and “exotic pole” which features more erotic movements.

In real life most of what I let John and Sherlock perform on the pole is definitely not suitable for beginners even if both are physically very fit in this fanfic. They would have to practice much longer than only some weeks to manage these tricks. The author would just love to see them both do that and so here we are. Sue me.

Also, I´m linking two YouTube videos of solo/duo performances which may give you a glimpse of what is doable at expert´s level pole sports. It´s quite random since there is a huge amount of videos out there.

Watch at least this one: Ashley Fox 2018 US National Pole Champion, she performs all the moves I discribed above and much more. Absolutely stunning! https://[youtu.be/3pyB7SRD84w?list=PLEFLupB0Ot_jjHgJ8UvbBbptEpLRQPxxt](youtu.be/3pyB7SRD84w?list=PLEFLupB0Ot_jjHgJ8UvbBbptEpLRQPxxt)

And a famous duo: Polina Volchek and Dimitry Politov, ultimately beautiful and totally in snych with each other: <https://youtu.be/WTkbl7t-SFw?list=PLEFLupB0Ot_jjHgJ8UvbBbptEpLRQPxxt>

**Author's Note:**

> chapter two/final chapter "The Dance" will be uploaded next Wednesday
> 
> Now it´s up. Obviously.


End file.
